


Bide Your Time, And Hold Out Hope

by youjik33



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:36:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9400013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youjik33/pseuds/youjik33
Summary: Somehow, impossibly, miraculously, they survived. Now the Death Star approaches Yavin, and there's nothing they can do but wait.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outruntheavalanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/gifts).



> I didn't initially even offer this fandom but this prompt grabbed me right away. Hope you like this heaping pile of cheese.

Bodhi frowned, touched the board, and moved his Kintan strider three spaces to the right. Across the table, Galen gave him a tight, knowing smile, and moved to take down Bodhi’s Houjix.

Bodhi was going to lose the game; that was obvious, and expected, and strangely comforting. He never thought he’d have a chance to get himself creamed at Dejarik against Galen Erso again.

“Do you remember the first time I asked you to play?” Galen asked softly, shifting against the angled back of his infirmary cot.

“It seems like a lifetime ago,” Bodhi replied. But he remembered it clearly, had in fact been replaying those memories over and over during the darker moments of the past few days. He’d been flattered and a little intimidated when one of the most famous and most brilliant of the Imperial engineering team had suggested taking a break while the techs unloaded the cargo Bodhi had flown in.

“I was sizing you up,” Galen said. “Even then. Somehow the moment I saw you I thought perhaps you could be trusted.”

Something warm fluttered in the pit of Bodhi’s stomach, and he lowered his eyes to the game board, where his few remaining fighters stood exposed and vulnerable. “Why?” he managed.

“Your eyes, I suppose. You put up a veneer of professional detachment, but I could sense a strength there, and a sadness. It reminded me of...”

He trailed off, and Bodhi, still staring at the board, could feel Galen’s gaze on him.

“Of Jyn?” he offered after a moment.

“No,” Galen chuckled. “No, Jyn has strength to be sure, but below that is mostly anger. No, you reminded me of Lyra.”

The warmth in Bodhi’s stomach returned, roiling to elicit something rather akin to nausea. He moved his strider to capture Galen’s Monnok. There was no hope of winning; in all the games they’d played he’d never won against Galen, not even once, but Galen had confessed to him that he was one of the only people who had ever even given him a challenge.

Why keep playing? He’d asked himself that more than once. Because even if he’d lost dozens of times, each new game might be the one that changed everything? Or just the way Galen’s face looked when they played, his eyes gentle and thoughtful, the small frowns as he planned his move giving way to smiles of triumph as his plans unfolded? The thought, the small selfish thought, that the fondness between them was something real?

Hope and hope alone had kept Bodhi going through everything – the horror of the Bor Gullet, the narrow escape from Eadu with Galen unconscious and near death in the hold; the even narrower escape from Scarif just days ago, none of them in one piece, most of the ground troops abandoned to die by the Death Star’s laser. There had been too much death and loss to handle except to focus on what still existed. They’d gotten the plans, they’d made it out with their lives – well, all but K-2SO, who was currently just a backup disk Andor had miraculously managed to keep intact in his shirt pocket.

But the android could be rebuilt, and the Alliance could regroup, if they could only take down the Death Star. And the friendship between himself and Galen could grow, too – maybe even turn into something else. There was hope, always, if they could only stay alive.

An alarm sounded somewhere in the base, echoing through the halls of the infirmary. “It’s here,” Galen murmured. “You aren’t joining the offense?”

“I tried,” Bodhi said. “Somehow they didn’t have a spare ship for me. Yet they had one for the farm boy with no experience,” he said dryly.

“They still don’t trust either of us, entirely,” Galen said. “Give them time.”

“If we have time.”

“It will take the station at least thirty minutes to get clear of the planet,” Galen said. “Our pilots will certainly have enough time. And I have a good feeling about that farm boy.”

 _Our_ pilots. The phrase made Bodhi smile, even as Galen took out another of his Dejarik pieces.

“I’d like to see it,” Galen said. “Could you help me up?”

“You don’t want to be with Jyn?” Bodhi asked with some surprise.

“She’s exhausted, and needs to sleep. I can’t do anything more for her now. And I’d like to see this thing through to the end.”

“2-1B will let us both have an earful if he catches you outside.”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t catch me.”

This wasn’t so difficult. The medical droids were stretched thin enough as it was, and even though they couldn’t move very quickly, Bodhi found he could easily support Galen’s weight and help him limp down to the entrance of the ancient temple the Alliance was using as its base. Galen was thinner than Bodhi expected; he could feel his ribs clearly through the thin material of his medical gown. He wondered how long it had been since the other man had been eating and sleeping properly. Something else to take care of in the future. If there was a future.

Yavin loomed red as blood in the sky above the jungle’s dense foliage, hiding the Death Star’s presence. Bodhi helped Galen settle onto a low stone wall. Its carvings were worn and unreadable, but it and the temple had stood here for five thousand years. It was hard to imagine it could all be blown to dust in a matter of minutes. Having his fate now so completely in the hands of the Rebel pilots was almost a relief. There was nothing to do but sit, and watch, and wait.

Galen leaned against his side, his body warm, and Bodhi drew a quick breath. Galen was tired, he reminded himself. He’d nearly died just a few days before; he was physically weakened, needed someone to help keep him upright. Bodhi was honored to be that person.

“You know,” Galen said quietly. “None of this could have been possible without you.”

Bodhi thought he could see a crescent of silver peeking out from behind the planet above them. “Without me?” He shook his head, unable to keep himself from chuckling. “Me! I didn’t do anything special. You’re the one who sacrificed so much – you suffered for so long. You were brave and brilliant and... and so strong. You’re the one who inspired me, Galen.”

He wasn’t imagining it. The silver crescent was waxing, growing into a half-sphere. Galen’s fingers touched his knee, and Bodhi, impulsively, reached for them, twining them in his own.

“You’re a hero, Bodhi Rook,” Galen said. “Even if we die now, nothing can change that.”

“What happened to your faith in our fighter pilots?” He had meant to say it lightly, but the words caught in his throat.

“I still have faith,” Galen said. He was staring hard at Bodhi, his brown eyes clear and bright. “I’m just also prepared for multiple outcomes.”

“So basically,” Bodhi said, with a half-smile, “You don’t think we’re going to die, but you’re not quite ready to write off the possibility.”

“Precisely.” Galen’s fingers squeezed Bodhi’s; he leaned forward, and Bodhi, his heart in his throat, leaned in to meet him.

Galen’s lips were cold. So were his hands, but they were gentle, whisper-soft as they reached up and cupped Bodhi’s cheeks. When Bodhi pulled back he couldn’t bring himself to go far, and rested his forehead against Galen’s, laughing softly in disbelief.

Maybe he shouldn’t feel so much relief when they could still die at any moment. In fact, that seemed more of a surety than ever; one impossible miracle had just occurred, and he couldn’t dare hope for two. “I love you,” he said, while he still could. “I have for a long time.”

“And I love you,” Galen said. “I didn’t even know I could love again.”

Bodhi took Galen’s hand again, and this time they leaned against each other, shoulder to shoulder, watching as the silver disk of the Death Star pulled itself clear of the planet. When the disk burst it was sudden and unexpected, popping like a balloon into glittering fragments. For a moment the reality of what had just happened refused to sink in; cheers started rising from around the base, and Galen did something even more surprising than the kiss had been: he started laughing.

“It looks as though we’re going to live after all, my friend,” he said.

Bodhi, speechless, wrapped his arms around Galen, buried his face against the junction of neck and shoulder. They were both shaking, with relief, with exhaustion, with too much emotion to handle.

“We’re going to live,” Galen said again.

“For now,” Bodhi said. But it was enough. It was more than he had ever wanted. “For now.”

 


End file.
